


Count Your Blessings, Not Your Losses

by muchmadnessissense



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Swan Queen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchmadnessissense/pseuds/muchmadnessissense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you started all over again, would you still find yourself making the same choices and being exactly where you were meant to be?</p><p>Emma decides to run away from the place and person who reminds her of her losses, yet she finds she is back to right where left off. This time would it be a blessing rather than a curse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Emma was always told that eventually everybody moves on from their loss(es), and she had forced herself to believe the same. However she soon realized that everyone always exaggerates. No one really ever moves on from any loss, they only believed they someday could.

 

 

x-x-x

* * *

 

 

She is yelling at Whale, shoving and dragging him by his coat, like an animal would a rag doll for entertainment. Except, this isn’t for entertainment.

 

 

They are at Story Brooke’s hospital, where Henry is lying on a bed, his face as pale as the white sheets underneath him, and a dozen tubes -- transporting liquids of different colors – red, yellow, translucent – that run out of him, like extended veins.

 

 

She can’t understand why everyone else is so quiet?

 

 

Her mother and father are holding each other, as if the other would collapse otherwise, as if as if they have had enough of trying to find a happy ending in the midst of having found each other.

 

 

Neal surprisingly is standing right next to Henry, but Emma can see in his eyes the urge to run, like he always does abandoning everything he calls his own.

 

 

Gold too, with Belle on an arm, has not spoken at all – not even to offer his usual slimy deals, when people are at their weakest, at their most vulnerable state of being.

 

 

The normally insufferable Hook is lurking in the background silently, like how the moon does, against the backdrop of a sky lit by a thousand twinkling stars.

 

 

The rest of those who were never on the Jolly Roger, who didn’t have to see horror and evil rise every day instead of the morning sun or drink up despair and pain, like it was the only remedy to fix their broken souls, were speaking about the  _silence_  that had fallen upon Storybrooke an hour ago.

 

 

Except then, suddenly, Regina is sobbing like a wounded animal – scared, raw, helpless and disturbed, but looking like a war torn country – small, ruined, empty and broken.

 

 

This is not how she wanted the silence to be shattered and just that thought makes her blood boil. The monitors should have beeped with the heartbeat of her son or her kiss should have made him gasp for air, like it had when the curse was broken.

 

 

 

But Emma realized this time there was no curse to be broken. This time the curse had become them.

 

 

x-x-x

 

 

* * *

 

 

They buried him on a winter morning, when the snow had enveloped the entire town, giving it a fairytale effect, for when the entire town gathered together at his funeral, it indeed felt like the WhiteKingdom was waving to their young prince a final goodbye.

 

 

Emma was the only one who did not cry, even when she willed for the tears to cascade down her cheeks into the mud she was about to throw over Henry’s black coffin.

 

 

 She wanted a part of her to remain with him, so that when the time came for the earth to swallow his body completely, he wouldn’t be all alone.

 

 

She is greedily downing all the words of comfort and love that everyone has been offering her, only to panic moments later, wondering if she could get drunk by consuming too many of those words, all at one go?

 

 

It is then her eyes fall upon a lonesome figure, still standing over Henry’s grave. Regina is looking every bit graceful and intimidating, as she always does. Emma has not spoken to her, ever since they got back from Neverland.

 

 

If she were being honest, there is nothing left to speak about anymore. Henry was a catalyst of their conversations but also an instigator of the silences that followed.

 

 

 This time the hush that has descended over them, seems to be crying out to break free but Emma feels like they’re lost in the empty streets of some ruined city.

 

 

It is bad enough when a person runs away from their own shadow; it is worse when they can’t face their own reflection.

 

 

Regina was her  _reflection_.

 

 

In that moment, all the grief and pain and yearning in those sad brown eyes would drown her and sadly the one person could save her had taken his boat off shore.

 

 

But then something catches her eye.

 

 

Regina leaves something by his grave, something shiny and it is sparkling from the mud, like a diamond in coal. Emma wants to walk up and satisfy her curious mind, but she finds herself being pulled by Mary Margaret towards David, and then slowly everyone is gathering around them like moths to a flame.

 

 

 If her mind wasn’t so hazy she’d have thought they were members of some cult about to indulge in a sacrificial ritual, where someone else loses their good so that another’s bad can be lost.

 

 

And weirdly Emma realizes this is indeed a sacrificial ritual in its own way, because her searching eyes weigh down in the realization of Regina’s absence.

 

 

This town while consoling each other has forgotten to comfort the one mother who had to sacrifice all her badness for the goodness of the son that was her own. Not by the conception of her flesh and blood, but by something far more powerful than that, by the conception of her thoughts and love.

 

x-x-x

 

* * *

 

It is something about her Emma can never understand how the former queen could appear so elegant even when she is so drunk. Her inebriation explains why she hasn’t yet sensed Emma’s presence.

 

Or has she?

 

 

Was she just pretending so that when Emma got closer, she could hurl her over the pier into the cold water and drown her on such a frosty lonely night?

 

 

There was no Henry now to keep the former evil queen on some kind of leash. Besides, there was no one around to hear her cries of help. Emma didn’t tell anyone where she was headed, because frankly she didn’t know where she was headed, until her feet pulled her here.

 

 

All she knew was that she needed to get out. From her parent’s home, from Neal’s self-pity, from Ruby’s hug, from Archie’s kind words, from Hook’s unwelcome concern, from Gold’s failed magic remnants, from anything and anyone that reminded her of what happened in Neverland and what she lost there.

 

 

She lost herself.

 

 

She lost the light and found her darkness.

 

 

A darkness so pervasive that she can feel its stickiness clamped into the universe of her being, making her life a curse rather than the means to a happy ending.

 

 

So it is odd when she finds Regina by the pier and instead of walking away, she feels an odd sense of relief flooding the empty aching spaces in her heart.

 

 

If she were being entirely honest, she didn’t want to be all by herself tonight.

 

 

They buried a part of her today and she fears that a drink or two more and she’d be back by Henry’s grave, digging it open, hoping that she can take that part and once again feel whole.

 

 

She wonders if Gold through his hocus-pocus can resurrect Henry this time, which on the Jolly Roger left nothing but a whole ton of magic residue that almost killed them all. Or if she could perform a sacrificial ritual of her own, she would exchange her life in return for giving birth to her son,  _twice_  in one lifetime.

 

 

There is not much light towards the side where Regina is now standing, leaning, looking towards the sea, like a fisherman would before the break of dawn, with reverence and anxiety.

 

To Emma’s eyes, Regina looks like a mythical sea creature; the moonlight filtering through her dark brown hair, radiating into her olive skin, making it seem like a shade of gold.

 

 

There is an empty whisky bottle lying surrendered next to Regina’s heels and for a moment Emma can’t help but wonder who seems to be the drunken one here?

 

 

She feels disappointed at the discovery, for she was hoping she could drink a glass or two. She hasn’t yet felt the need to drink, until now, because everything already felt numb and dead.

 

 

Suddenly though her throat has gone all dry and her leg twitches like she is in desperate need of that drink. So when there is a tingle in her spine, she doesn’t think anything of it, until that all familiar feeling of being watched encroaches upon her.

 

 

Someone is watching  _her_ , watching  _them_.

 

 

Her eyes go wide when she spins around to find Tinker Bell looking at her with a little empathy and a lot of guilt.

 

 

Is she supposed to  _say_  something? Her eyes catch the blue ones that are now peering towards Regina.

 

 

Wait she needs to  _ask_  her something. What is she doing here?

 

 

Emma was surprised when she met Tinker Bell in Neverland. She wondered if Snow White’s tale had the story of another daughter, who instead of a wardrobe was pushed into a boat and set sail to the shores of Neverland where the Peter Pan found her. She looked so much like Emma -- the blonde hair, blue eyes, fiery personality, but mostly because Regina disliked her too.

 

 

They hadn’t set foot out of the Jolly Roger and the former queen was all but rabid about having to take Tinker Bell’s help. Snow White was able to form a semblance of truce, but not before Regina landed a nice solid punch across Tinker’s jaw.

 

 

 It had to hurt, because well hello, been there, felt that.

 

 

She was quite surprised how a petite, woman like Regina could pack such a nasty punch.

 

 

She looked across towards the end of the pier; Regina looked like the ships that were floating in the water, distant, anchorless and small.

 

 

“How long have you been here?” her tone came out far more interrogative than she would have liked. But hey, she still was the official Sheriff of Storybrooke.

 

 

 

“Long enough to know” then Tinker abruptly stopped as if even saying what she was about to, would shrink their already constricted hearts, “ that she is sinking, and there is no anchor this time.”

 

 

Pause.

 

 

Another heart beat later “The thing is we all need to sink, so that we can learn to kick our legs around, fight to regain our breath, float up, and swim across willingly, until we are back on our feet.”

 

 

Tinker’s eyes are like the waves of an ocean, the intensity of the emotions, losing momentum as they get closer to the shore.

 

 

Emma does not understand, but recognizes unwillingly, that here is yet another back-story in the former queen’s life, that she hasn’t bother to ask her parents, and that her parents haven’t deemed it worthy to be discussed.

 

 

Guilt pangs bob up and down her chest like a paper boat trickling in a puddle of rain water.

 

 

She should have tried to read beyond the chapters of a silly book. After all isn’t that what being the Savior is all about, ripping apart pretenses and masks that people wear as a second skin?

 

 

She could have forced Henry to write a new book, authored by only him this time.

 

  
But now it is too late.

 

 

“The thing though is,” her thoughts are cut off by Tinker’s distant voice “why will she fight to come back up anymore? Regina has lost her home – the place where she kept her heart, alive and beating.”

 

 

Tinker had now moved a few steps ahead of Emma, like she was too afraid to get near to Regina, but bold enough to let herself be seen by her.

 

 

 

“You…you…” it is as if the cold air freezes her tongue, she wants to ask the question, but something holds her back “you should go home. It is late and well I don’t think Regina wants any help”

 

 

 

“Home?” Tinkle scoffs “I don’t know which one is it anymore? Fairytale land, Neverland or now Storybrooke”

 

 

 

That is all the opening Emma needs to ask the question perched on the edge of her tongue, like an eagle patiently waiting to pounce on its prey. “You knew Regina, from the Fairytale land days?”

 

 

Tinker raises an eyebrow “I thought that was evident from the reception I got in Neverland”

 

 

Duh. Emma thinks, Tinker must think.

 

 

Apparently Tinker does not know a leading question when she hears one.

 

 

“Yeah well” Emma says, digging her boots into the wood deck below her, wondering if this was built from the trees in the forests of the fairytale land “but I don’t know what transpired between you. Snow…er….my mom didn’t tell me.”

 

 

As an after thought she adds “Not that I was interested to even know. My whole focus was just to get back Henry saf…” the word dies on her lips.

 

 

Tinker comes closer to Emma, she is whispering when she answers, as if afraid the secret about to tumble out will cast a shadow on the only illuminating thing in Regina’s life at the moment – the moon.

 

 

“I was the fairy chosen for Regina”

 

 

 Emma lets out a small gasp “But you…” The remaining words just hung in the air between them, but they need not have been completed.

 

 

“I knew a very young Regina. A naïve, kind, wonderful and vulnerable young princess, who thought everyone deserved to be happy, even Snow White.”

 

 

Tinker turns around to catch a glimpse of the woman in question and sighs “As her fairy, I should have protected her, she even wished upon me, but I was forbidden by Cora and Rumple – they worked in tandem to birth most evils in Regina’s life - and I cowered in fear, leading my banishment to Neverland by the Fairy Council”

 

 

  
Emma looks up in understanding “You blame yourself for the creation of the Evil Queen?”

 

 

“No, I blame myself for the destruction of the pure hearted Regina” Tinker says, without missing a heartbeat “Had I been around, her life wouldn’t have gotten so messed up. She wouldn’t have to marry King Leopold, she wouldn’t hate Snow White, she wouldn’t unleash the curse, she wouldn’t have separated you from Snow and Charming, she…”

 

 

“Henry wouldn’t be born” Emma says flatly, aware that her heart just felt like stone, heavy and cold.

 

 

 

“Yes Henry,” Tinker now brings her hand towards her chest as if saying his name was breaking her heart too “see, he in some ways became her fairy. The one that I could not be for her; he broke the curse within her – about seeing love as a weakness rather than strength. He was her anchor and now….”

 

 

Emma is acutely aware that Tinker is trying to tell her something, but what exactly she cannot seem to decipher. For a Savior she thinks she is pretty dense when it came to reading between lines.

 

 

Apparently little fairies have better street sense than her in spite of living in a world where nobody grew up, but where creepy got a brand new definition. So…

 

 

 

“Maybe you could help her. Help each other through this. Like how parents usually do together at the loss of their child. You are after all the Savior, Emma.”

 

 

 

“Tinker Bell” Emma clears her throat “I think guilt has colored your mind too much if you think we can be anything but destructive for each other. The only reason we didn’t kill each other while we were on the shores of Neverland, was because we wanted to keep Henry alive.”

 

 

Still you  **failed**  the voice in her head taunts her.

 

 

_Nope not drunk._

 

 

“He is still alive, within you.”

 

 

“These are just mere words. People say it when they don’t know what else could be said. The reality is that Henry is dead and life is nothing but a bottomless ocean now and it feels like I’m drowning deeper one day at a time” she bites her lower lip, trying to keep her emotions at bay.

 

 

“I think what I’m trying to say is that,” she swallows “perhaps now, through him, you can be each other’s anchors?”

 

 

The suggestion makes her eyes widen like she has seen a ghost or something. How she wishes she could at least see Henry’s ghost.

 

 

God, was she really not drunk?

 

 

“I don’t need any anchor, I don’t want to be saved” Emma says anger bubbling up within her.

 

 

“Well even the Savior sometimes needs a Savior. We all can be saved by someone” Tinker smiles

 

 

“I know everyone looks at me and sees this Savior with the pure heart, the strong arms, the brave soul and the kind eyes. What they don’t see though are my long legs, all ready to run. Henry was my speed breaker and I no longer see any reason why I will be staying around anymore”

 

 

Tinker is shifting on her feet, impatient for Emma to finish, not wanting to be rude and interrupt her mid-sentence.

 

 

“Henry wouldn’t want you to run though”

 

 

Ok, the woman has a mean punch without even needing to use her hands. Fairy shit at work here, she thinks.

 

 

 

“He never asked me to stay either”

 

 

 

“I think you’d be doing yourself an immense favor by staying.” the other blonde woman says firmly, even though her voice is soft.

 

 

“Yeah? How is that?”

 

 

“It is the only way you will be able to forgive yourself. Because you will realize something that Regina,” Tinker gestures towards the brunette by raising her eyebrows and jutting her chin out “learned in Storybrooke. No matter how much you try to run away from the demons within, by creating a different world altogether for yourself, in the end, the only way you can exorcise them forever, is by facing them in the place they happen to own – inside your heart.”

 

 

Emma wants to ask her to shut up, wants to push her into the water. Talk about Regina being the one with the evil instincts here.

 

 

“Emma, no matter how much you run away, all routes will lead home. Who better than me to tell you this? We go searching for paradise across the world, but little do we know paradise is our roots, it is below our feet”

 

 

Yeah Emma thinks - the empty whisky bottle at Regina’s feet is a testament to that. She so needs that drink now.

 

  
Before she could open her mouth to say something, Tinker continues…

 

 

“Remember this Emma: Even if we get a second chance to start afresh, we end up on the same journey as our first choices got us. Because, we are always meant to be, where we are; it is not what happens to us that matters, but what we make of what happens to us that does. So don’t run Emma. Stay. Heal.”

 

 

“Think about it. She could surely use a friend. So could you” the smaller blonde says softly, before she walks away into the night.

 

 

Emma stands there for a while, feeling the words of the fairy wash over her, the impact as brute as if she were standing under a huge waterfall.

 

 

Regina is now sitting down, her body battered with the weight of grief and tears, clutching onto something. Emma thinks it must be a picture of Henry or his favorite blue Batman shirt or some other tangible thing that connects Henry to this world.

 

 

 

She puts her hands in the pocket of her coat, her fingers brushing against metal and as she brings the glistening chain up to her eyes, she thinks about how Henry might be one of those stars up above her, watching her, from now on, always shining on her.

 

 

 

It is the same chain Regina left by his graveside today. After the crowd had left, Emma went back. She has always been a curious person and especially when it came to the fallen queen.

 

 

After all if there was one thing Emma could never compete with Regina in, would be how if they split open both of them, Regina would burst open with the wealth of far too much Henry within her, than Emma ever would, even though he lived within her for nine long months.

 

 

It is a gold chain, with a pendant – a heart shaped one – that could hold within in two photos, however this one only had that of a very young Henry.

 

 

Maybe when he was five years old, with his front tooth missing but his cheeky smile capturing you still the same and it is a moment Emma does not recognize, because she never was there – to change his diapers, soothe his fevers, and drive away his fears.

 

 

Emma wonders if the chain belongs to Cora, the Queen of Hearts, who didn’t have her own, yet the piece of her heart she let loose in the world, loved her more than she ever deserved. She wonders if the missing photo in the locket was Cora’s.

 

 

Is that why Regina had surrendered this to the earth? She was burying everyone she has every truly love in the past, knowing in the present that she could never ever love again in the future?

 

 

Emma brings her hand to rest down by the side of her body, the chain still clutched in her palms. She looks at Regina and knows that she must go and help the fallen queen back up on her feet, and in the process stop herself from falling.

 

 

Her grip on the locket gets tighter as the chain dangles from between the slight opening in her palms, like sand that is slipping away if held on too tightly. Like memories that she no longer wants to hold onto because she is too afraid, to feel anything, anymore.

 

 

And so Emma takes a deep breath. Puts the chain back into her pocket safely, and walks away without glancing back, knowing that if she did, she would find her speed breaker just a few meters away.

 

 

 

 

x-x-x

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Emma has heard of a 7 year itch when it comes to marriage. Little did she know, in her case it could even extend to a city – she had been in Tallahassee for seven long years, since the night she ran away from StoryBrooke.

 

 

She had wandered a few places before she decided she wanted to start at the same point where fate had decided to rewrite her happily ever after.

 

 

It had been a busy but a lonesome life for her. She was pre-occupied with work for most part of her day, and so tired that by night she would crash until the sun swallowed the moon whole again.

 

 

When she first came into the city, she figured that she could go back to her old bounty hunter ways. But she decided against it, because if this was her second innings at the game called life, she didn’t want to carry forward anything that reminded her of her past records.

 

 

So instead she settled into a life that now finds her as a sous-chef at a reasonably well known Italian restaurant.   
  
Her foray into the world of cooking happened completely by accident, much like everything else in her life, but her love for cooking turned out to be completely by choice. She started off by bagging quite a few waitressing stints so that she could pay bills and it happened to be a job that also kept her rootless to a place. If she left, nobody would need her and if she returned, nobody would want her to stay.

 

  
But turns out a few months turned into a year and then turned into a few more seasons, Emma had stayed and ultimately found herself a roommate, who was a chef at one of the Indian restaurants around.

 

 

Hina,whose father was Pakistani and her mother Indian, but who always described her identity as fiercely American.

 

 

It was from her Emma learned about the wealth of spices and how one could prepare the simplest of meals, yet make it seem as the most exotic of menus on display.

 

 

Hina got pregnant with her Spanish boyfriend’s kid one year and soon, one fine morning as Hina had her twenty-fifth bout of morning sickness beat her down, Emma stepped in to be her Savior.

 

 

Apparently whenever she has to play the role of the Savior, she plays it so convincingly well – by default- that even in this case, she soon ended up learning all the tricks of the trade by the best of them around.

 

 

It was how she had landed up as a sous-chef, after 6 long years of working diligently and with much discipline, Emma had beaten some of the best men in the business, only by using her kitchen knives and magical hands (as Hina called them).

 

 

Of course Emma hates the word Magic because it reminds her of everything that she has tried to forget.

 

 

_Tried_

 

 

Every night Emma sees the same dream. Henry calling out to her, sometimes for help, but most other times he is saying something she cannot hear.

 

 

When she tries harder to strain her ears to catch his voice, she wakes up from her dream, drenched in her sweat, as if someone is pounding her heart, with the pestle she uses to crush seeds of pepper in her kitchen.

 

 

She thinks about her heart and how it must be now, just like pepper perhaps, coarse and small. Without Henry it has never been the same, no longer pure and powerful she believes.

 

 

She couldn’t help but miss the Savior role once in a while though.

 

 

 On days when Hina’s kid would be playing the Disney channel and Snow White would smile at her, Emma couldn’t help but call up her mother.

 

 

It wasn’t as though she abandoned all contact with her fairytale past. She called up her parents occasionally, when she either missed Henry too much or when there was no time to miss him at all.

 

 

When she ran away from Storybrooke that night, she did under the confidence that nobody would follow her.

 

 

They  **didn’t**.

 

 

How could they, the curse wasn’t fully broken – the magical boundary line still existed. And she knew her mother was far too idealistic to abandon her subjects just because she wanted to be with her long lost – found – runaway daughter.

 

 

Hook had tried to find her, apparently for days on end in the streets of New York and Boston but stopped when he got lost in the woods of the EnchantedForest.

 

 

A certain Thief’s arrow played the role of Cupid’s and Emma couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought if Hina’s kiddo learned that Robin Hood ended up with a pirate rather than some princess after all.

 

 

The only person who ever finally found her was Neal. 7 months ago.

__  
  
(What is with the number 7)

 

As always after a considerable gap, one night, by a terrible twist of fate, he showed up at her restaurant with his swanky looking date. She could never figure out what the hell women see in him anyway. She was barely a girl when she met him, so well she gets a pass because of that.

 

 

Turns out she too was one of those women who never learned from their mistakes it seems. For after one really persuasive month by Neal, Emma finds herself drinking and dancing with him in a bar.

 

 

It leads to something that come morning Emma couldn’t really recollect, except that Neal’s very naked body had coiled around her semi-naked one, like a python who wanted to devour his prey but stopped with the morning rays.

 

 

She remembers stumbling around in the damp motel room, just before vomiting.

 

 

As she just had  _now_.

 

 

 

She is worried that someone will catch her standing outside on these empty streets. For a moment she thinks nobody will recognize her. How can they?

 

 

 

It has been  _seven_  long years after all.

 

 

She is standing in the same town, she ran away from. From the same people who always wanted to run to her.

 

 

Her hand quietly slips into the pocket of her flannel pants and she fishes out the gold chain, rubbing her thumb over the locket, like Aladdin would to summon a Genie, so that she could use up all of her three wishes, to banish away all her fears.

 

 

No Genie comes though, but instead she has managed to summon 40 seconds of pure  _foolish_  liquid courage, because when she looks up, she realizes she is standing outside the same white door, and as she looks at the keyhole she suddenly feels so very small, as if had drunk some liquid out of bottle like Alice in Wonderland.

 

 

Emma feels nervous and as uncertain as she was, that night, 8 years ago.

 

 

When she finally decided to go back home, she never thought this is the first place where her swollen ankles would finally lead her. She had been on her feet for far too long, the drive to StoryBrooke had not been easy and turns out she took quite a few tries before she finally found her way into town.

 

 

Emma blows out a long breath. Henry’s warmth envelops her and before she knows it the doorbell has rung.

 

 

The eyes are still as beautiful and warm as Emma remembers them to be. But no longer do they hold within it a sea of emotions. It is glassy and blinking at her as if Emma is some apparition.

 

 

Perhaps she is. She isn’t the same Emma Swan that left those drunk, lonely and wet eyes by the pier in the darkness all alone.

 

 

“Hi” Emma manages to squeak out awkwardly, but not before licking her lips.

 

 

Some things don’t change after all, she thinks.

 

 

The eyes are still blinking, still devoid of any emotion, and then it happens, suddenly they widen, as big as the alien flying saucers of Hina’s favorite tv show ‘The X-files’.

 

 

Emma never really got the obsession Hina had with watching the re-run of the series on her laptop every night, but every time Scully rolled her eye at Mulder or scoffed at his ridiculous theories, Emma couldn’t help but think of Regina.

 

  
Which she now realizes meant she thought of Regina almost every other night for the past one year.

 

 

Regina, who has finally started to age and yet manages to look prettier than Emma had remembered her to be. What she must be 40 now? Wait make that 70 if they had to be completely realistic.

 

 

The crow’s feet have set foot on her kingdom of glory it seems, her hair still is the same, except for a grey streak striking through it, like lightning would in a stormy sky, odd wrinkles have cropped up here and there but they still can’t blemish the otherwise perfect olive skin.

 

 

 

Emma feels entranced when finally Regina’s lips part and she darts out her tongue, licking her plump lips, before finally disappearing right back in and then that husky golden voice shatters the silence of Emma’s night, once again, just as it had 7 years ago.

 

 

But this time there is no sob, just a tiny gasp.

 

 

“You’re  **pregnant**?” the words finally follow.

 

 

Emma can’t help but shrug her shoulders and smile. Because for the first time, since she peed on a stick and her world tilted on its axis, she feels steadied, settled and strangely, completely  **anchored**.

 

 

Perhaps Tinker Bell was right after all. All routes lead to  _home_.

 

 

And Emma was staring right back into  **it**.

 

 

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

_Years ago, a customer who had been very impressed with one of the pasta dishes Emma had cooked, came up to meet her in the kitchen. She was a lady in her 60s and had a fashion boutique of her own; the kind of person Emma never thought would frequent the small restaurant in the kind of neighborhood it was set in._

_Looking every bit classy, in an emerald green buttoned shirt and silk flared skirt - that Emma had then thought would look classier on Regina - Mrs Putin spoke of how cooking was never about thinking, but about feeling; just like life, sometimes, all you need to do is be foolishly brave to make a choice –in your heart- that would change the course of a meal forever._

 

* * *

 

Mrs Putin’s words however are not seeming to be any source of cold comfort to Emma right now. She has been foolishly brave to knock on the door of the former queen, but as she had learned early on in life, being foolishly brave almost always ended up making her feel more foolish than ever brave.

 

 

Regina was still _gaping_ at her.

 

 

Emma’s hand subconsciously fell across her swollen belly as if she was forming a protective barrier over it.

 

 

_(You’re pregnant?)_

“Yes, almost seven months in” Emma says, clearing her throat, because she doesn’t know if that was a rhetorical question or not

 

 

Regina is still standing there, perhaps wondering why on earth Emma has landed on her doorstep, seven years later, and heavily pregnant, when they’ve not been anything to each other since, not friends, not foes, not acquaintances, and not even strangers.

 

  
If she was being honest, she is thinking about that exact thing now too.

 

 

When she finally decided to return home, on a rainy night, as the baby kicked and rolled within her, as if it were trying to jump over puddles, Emma thought of all the people she was terrified to finally see, once again.

 

But what struck her as odd was that of all the people she was ticking off in that list in her mind, Regina’s name did not figure amongst it.

 

 

Perhaps it was because Emma felt she **didn’t** owe Regina a god damned thing.

 

 She _didn’t_!

 

 

Yet, of all the people with whom she had shared her life many years ago, Regina was the only person, with whom, a piece of her life had shared most of his life with.

 

 

“You look _different_ ” Emma licks her lips once again, she is nervous and suddenly that old twitch in her leg is back.

 

 

But this time she can’t even _think_ about that drink.

 

 

“I presume, you mean I look old **Miss Swan** ” Regina snickers, but Emma is not concentrating on that sound (god because that sound used to always send a shiver down her spine) for she is far too taken aback by the way Regina has addressed her.

 

 

She had forgotten how bad things between them really were.

 

 

Shit, she **shouldn’t** have come here.

 

 

“No, I mean…er…of course you look old..older…I meant older…I mean we’re all going to age soon…sooner….. But what I mean is….”

 

 

Before she can sound any more gibberish Regina cuts in “Is there any particular reason you are here _Miss Swan_?”

 

 

This time there is less bite to her tone, and Emma wonders if the brunette had been drinking, because a faint smell of alcohol is tingling in the air between them.

 

 

Since Emma can’t drink, _god does she need that drink now though_ , she is certain Regina has surely downed a peg or more.

 

 

Well it is none of her business, besides, guess what – not everyone is stupid enough, to get drunk like her and end up pregnant by a nincompoop of an ex-boyfriend and the father of her dead first son.

 

 

“I was passing by” she lies “and I just thought I’d let you..”

 

 

“What? Gloat about how you’ve found a replacement for Henry _Miss Swan_?” Regina’s narrowed eyes are darker than Emma ever remembers.

 

 

“What?! No!” Emma stutters, shaking her head furiously.

 

 

Regina is still peering at her, but she suddenly moves closer to Emma and smiles, the mayoral smile that Emma has always hated “Of course I’ve assumed you had better things to do, after you ran away, than getting knocked up. Unless this has been how you’ve tried to escape from the memories of Henry!”

 

 

Emma finds that she is not angry at what Regina is actually saying; instead it is whatever she is not saying that is making the fury in her build at a glacial pace.

 

 

 

“God, what the fuck is wrong with you Regina?”

 

 

“Still your ever eloquent self I see. I guess some things can never change” Regina is smirking now.

 

 

That is all that it requires for the cloud of anger to erupt within Emma and before she knows it, a barrage of swear words burst out of her.

 

 

“Fuck! Fuck this! I’m a really fucking stupid asshole to have come here thinking…What the fuck was I even thinking? Fuck!” Emma’s chest is heaving with anger and her she can barely feel the strength to stand upright, let alone try and bring Regina down, like she had done years ago at the graveyard.

 

 

For a minute she can see something resembling concern swim in those dark brown eyes. But Emma doesn’t look long enough to figure if it was her mind playing tricks on her.

 

 

 She didn’t want to.

 

  
After a few seconds of silence has passed, Emma continues, but not before she feels a slight sense of discomfort squirm through her belly “You’re right Regina, some things never change. I forgot that people like you can never change, no matter how many years have passed or how many sorrows have stayed behind”

 

 

She is now clutching her stomach because a shot of pain traces her belly button and then dulls away “For your information, I came here because I thought you’d _understand_ ”

 

 

Regina’s face is devoid of expression, but Emma can sense the question in those ever expressive eyes.

 

Try as she does, the former queen, could never mask the truth that shone beneath the layers of that soulful gaze of hers.

 

 

It is as if the magic between them is just humming quietly, crackling up on the surface of their skins, but neither is ready to acknowledge it.

 

 

At least Emma _isn’t_.

 

  
Stubbornly, doesn’t _want_ to.

 

 

“I thought you of all the people would know how hard it is to go over something all over again, after you’ve hit the reset button. Remember how happy you were before I waltzed in StoryBrooke - nine years ago - and broke the curse _Your Majesty_? I intended to escape my own curse too Regina, which is why I left. Then _this_ happened” Emma’s eyes land down on her stomach.

 

 

Regina is back to saying nothing, except wearing that stoic face as if it wasn’t her heart that was made of stone, but instead her body was sculpted out of it.

 

 

“I’m such an idiot” Emma is now trying to fight away the tears that are all but pooling in her eyes (damn these hormones) “I should have never come here”

 

 

Before she says anything else that she might regret once the hormones have settled down, like the blanket of fog that lifts after an unexpected rain shower on a cold day, Emma steps away, spinning on her heels, before another round of Regina’s bitter words try squashing her heart again.

 

 

“Oh and how could I ever escape Henry Regina?” she says, her back facing the brunette “How do you escape something that you carry within you, no matter where you go?”

 

 

For the first time in many many many years her cheeks are wet with tears. The drought has finally ended.

 

 

Damn you Regina Mills.

 

  
Damn you Henry Mills.

 

 

Damn you Storybrooke

 

 

Emma realizes this is why she never wanted to come back home, every little memory and feeling she kept _alien_ to her, has once again managed to _claim_ her aching soul.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She is standing outside her parents’ apartment now. God, you’d think this town is still warped in some curse.

 

 

Everyone is staying in the same place, perhaps doing the same thing too?

 

 

Emma isn’t nervous, or so she seems to be arguing with herself. Just then the baby kicks, and that is all the incentive Emma needs to knock on the door.

 

 

One

 

Two

 

Three

 

 

_Breathe Emma, Breathe!_

 

 

“Emma **!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!** ” Snow has just thrown herself on her daughter, without even bothering to notice….

 

 

Ok she can’t breathe. That can’t be really good for the baby

 

 

“Mom!” the word sounds so alien even to her ears, it doesn’t surprise Emma how taken aback her own mother seems.

 

 

_Pause_

 

 

One

 

  
Two   
  
  
Three

 

 

Mouth drops open wide in recognition of…

 

 

_Breathe Mom, Breathe!_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She is now sitting on the couch, comfortably, a warm mug of green tea nestled between her palms.

 

 

Her mother is already slaving over the stove, preparing her some fresh vegetable soup and a very healthy but incredibly bland tofu sandwich.

 

 

Not only because, even at this stage in her pregnancy Emma can’t seem to keep most of her food down -except for some fruits, shakes and liquids - but also because as part of renovating her life, Emma apparently chose to even turn vegan!

 

 

However, ever since she got pregnant, after being diagnosed with low levels of iron and protein had given up veganism and adopted a vegetarian lifestyle instead.

 

 

Snow is complaining in the background about how she only knows to cook meat well and the sandwich really seems too dry and simple for what was supposed to be her first homecoming meal!

 

 

Emma is in the middle of rolling her eyes, when her father has walked right in.

 

 

He had been out on some urgent Sheriff business. The gold star badge gleaming still couldn’t match up to the happiness twinkling in his light blue eyes.

 

  
Unlike Emma and her mother, he still has not seemed to age – no onset of wrinkles or skin sagging below the jaw lines, not even a tiny fraction of a bit.

 

 

_Sigh_

 

 

Emma feels kind of envious, because in this world, they are after all the same age somehow, aren’t they? Yet her father would pass off younger than either of them anyway.

 

 

He does seem a bit paler than before though. Or that was probably because he thinks this is a phantom image – his runaway daughter is home after ages.

 

 

 

 

 

His tears are already falling freely before he has even rushed by her side to hug her.

 

 

The hug is gentle yet protective.

 

 

Emma has _missed_ this.

 

 

“My baby girl” he is still cooing in her ears, as her mother can’t resist coming over and joining in the group hug.

 

 

Yes, she has _definitely_ missed home

 

 

“Snow, stop, or else we shall lose her again to suffocation” he manages to tease his wife.

 

 

Emma can feel their love swirl around her; she is sandwiched between them in the tightest of hugs she has ever received in so many years.

 

 

It makes her heart flutter with pride.   
  
  
She suddenly feels like a young child, whose parents have won the ‘best couple’ award at a party and the prize for that are tickets to Disneyland.

 

 

Nothing can bring her down from this happiness high, her mind declares.

 

 

“Who is the father Emma?”

 

 

_Pop_

 

 

The illusion broken, she feels deflated all of a sudden.

 

 

Snow seems unperturbed though, the question after all had been asked matter-of-factly. Like this was everyday business for the class teacher, going around town asking

 

‘Who is the father?’ ‘Who is the father?’

Emma is now looking at the old floral wallpaper patterns that her parents haven’t bothered to change, in almost 8 years now. Or wait was that 28+8 considering this entire town and the interior decorations have been constructed and picked out by Regina?

 

 

_Regina_ _. Ugh. Not Regina Again, Please_

 

 

 

Her mind seems to be begging to her mind?

 

 

Wait, that makes no sense at all.

 

 

So isn’t Snow’s persistence to know who the father of her child is, as is David’s reluctance to persist with asking Snow not to be so persistent to begin with.

 

 

“It is Neal’s” she finally manages to blurt out. What is the point in keeping secrets anyway she thinks. Nothing in this town manages to stay hidden for long.

 

 

Even the curse broke, no matter how hard Regina had tried.

 

 

_Regina_ _. Ugh. Not Regina Again, Please, Pretty Please_

They are still staring back at her wide-eyed. Her mother’s mouth is open too.

 

 

“Does he know?” Snow asks the minute she manages to close it shut.

 

 

She shakes her head. The last time she saw Neal was a few weeks after they had slept together and he had come by to ask her if she wanted to get wasted again, that night.

 

 

A goodbye fuck he had called it, for old time’s sakes he had mumbled.

 

 

Apparently, he was leaving for Hollywood with that long legged arm candy of his. Neal had managed to write a script and was headed to show it to some producer friends of hers.

 

 

Emma never really took Neal to be a writer of any sorts. She was happy though; he hit his reset button and didn’t choose the world of thievery, even though he continued to be his father’s cowardly son.

 

 

Aah genetics…

 

 

I guess some things can never change; Regina was _right_.

 

 

_Regina_ _. Ugh. Not Regina Again, Please, Pretty Fucking Please_

After every single question under the sun regarding the baby and the how, when, where, what of Emma’s life spent away from them all, finally her father realizes it has gotten too late and Emma must be really exhausted too.

 

 

The ‘ _Whys’_ could wait, he reasons, after all she wasn’t going to run away again anywhere.

 

 

The look on her mother’s face sends a wave of guilt crashing down on her chest. 8 years ago too Snow wouldn’t have thought Emma was going to run away.

 

 

As if to reassure her mother’s anxious heart and her father’s prodding eyes, she gets up from the couch and hugs both of them, first individually and then together, once again.

 

 

This time she wasn’t going to run away.

 

 

Heck, she couldn’t afford to.

 

 

“Go to sleep mom” this time the words come by easily, Emma suppresses a yawn and smiles “you need to be up early for your class too”

 

 

The smiles vanish.

 

 

Two pairs of eyes blink and the secret signal is decoded Emma thinks. It is what Emma has always hated about her parents, how effortlessly they understood each other.

 

 

“And Dad, the sheriff business suits you” Emma adds, so that she can distract her mind from wondering about the ‘curious case of the vanished smiles’

 

 

His smile is back, but it doesn’t last long.

 

 

“Thank you” he says, and then as if on cue removes the Sheriff badge and hands it over to Emma “the job is still yours, if you want it”

 

 

“No, I think you are perfect for the role dad, just like mom makes for a perfect teacher”

 

 

 

If nothing else, she has to commend Regina’s well intended and practically sound second identity construction, in the pre-curse breaking Storybrooke.

 

 

 

_Regina_ _. Ugh. Not Regina Again, Please, Pretty Fucking Please. Fuckity Fuck_

 

 

 

“Your mother is no longer a teacher of this town Emma” her father words leave her speechless

 

 

“I have been elected the Mayor of this town” Snow admits, her voice unwavering

 

 

“What? When? How? Where? Why?” the questions dart across like little arrows and her mother, an accomplished archer ducks every one of them with the excuse of it being a conversation of a different night.

 

 

So then what about Regina? Emma can’t help but think to herself so loudly, that her parents have managed to catch it.

 

 

She can sense it in the way they just tensed up in tandem, like two bodies and one soul, trying to glide on the ice-floor.

 

 

As Emma has never come to understand, how anything related to Regina, even a silent thought, can’t seem to filter past her mother.

 

 

_Perhaps it was Snow White who is obsessed with the Evil Queen, rather than the other way around._

 

 

“Regina had to leave office seven months ago. It was a fair and democratic process”

 

 

She is proud that her parents haven’t resorted to being leaders by birthright; just as how it would’ve been had they still lived in the fairytale kingdom.

 

 

It explains why she hasn’t had any inkling about this change, considering she hasn’t called her parents up, after the test she took in one of the toilets in her restaurant and it had come out positive.

 

 

“Why?” the question escapes her mouth with much urgency, like a diver rushing up to the surface of the ocean to get some much needed oxygen.

 

 

“I think this was already settled; the whys can wait until later, can’t it?” David’s blue eyes are lingering over her softly, “the baby needs some much deserved rest”

 

 

Emma can’t argue with that.

 

 

‘Good night’ her father says as he places a soft kiss on her temple. Moms will be moms though; the hug was almost as suffocating as her first one.

 

 

“I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this” Emma whispers, looking down at her tummy, when she is sitting on her bed all alone “it is **so** good to be home _kiddo_ ”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

She was just about to switch off her bedside lamp, after having tucked herself in, when she hears it.

 

 

It sounds like something is striking itself on her window.

 

 

For a minute, her mind wanders to the scene from the movie ‘The Conjuring’ of the birds banging themselves against the bedroom window of where evil resides.

 

 

_Oh God was she carrying ‘The Omen’s Damien?’_

No more horror movies for you Emma Swan, she scolds herself.

 

 

With tentative steps she moves towards the window and her heart races for a completely different reason.

 

 

Regina’s standing right down, throwing little pebbles on her window.

 

 

That cannot be a good _OMEN_ , whatsoever. Evil is _indeed_ outside her window.

 

 

Emma slides up her window and almost misses a pebble hitting her right in the eye.

 

 

“What are you doing here?” she manages to sound irritated, even while keeping her voice soft and low.

 

 

Imagine her parents waking up to this scene. That would be a different kind of horror genre altogether.

 

 

“I wz tryin to wae-hey-ke yo-uu” Regina’s speech was slurring.

 

 

_Is she drunk or is it too cold tonight?_

 

 

“I wanted to apho-loh-gize” Regina yells, when Emma still hasn’t responded.

 

 

_Ok, no, positively, a hundred percent **drunk**_

 

 

“Ssssh” Emma’s placing her index finger on her lips. Come up she motions later with the wiggling of her fingers.

 

 

By the time she has tip-toed out of her room and into the hall, Regina is already by the front door, almost about to knock.

 

 

“Hey!” Regina says in something barely of a whisper.

 

 

“What are you doing here Regina?” Emma asks impatiently, tapping at the doorframe with her fingers.

 

 

“I thought I already answered that question” the brunette says fidgeting with the buttons on her black coat.

 

 

“I couldn’t hear you clearly then. You sure sounded drunk down there”

 

 

“I’m not drunk _Miss Swan_. For your information, I can handle my drinks very well. It was just too cold down there” Regina finishes with an eye roll.

 

 

 

Emma could surely sense the breath of a quite a few whiskeys occupying the space between Regina and her. But from her demeanor and speech now, it seemed like Regina really wasn’t _that_ drunk after all.

 

 

 

“I bet I can out drink you!”  Emma blurts out even before she can really think.

 

 

“Hopefully you’ve not been idiotic to indulge in any of those games in a while Miss Swan. But with you one can really never know” Regina responds, her voice lacking any of the weight necessary for the intended dig to have any substance.

 

 

“Goodbye Regina” Emma’s anger has swooped down instantly over her heart, like a car skidding to an abrupt halt, as the red light has turned on and just as she has almost shut the door, Regina thrusts one of her boots in between the door and the frame.

 

 

“Wait” it sounds like a genuine plea to Emma.

 

 

Emma once again opens the door, but this time steps forward, causing a surprised Regina to shuffle backwards. She almost but closes the door and pulls in her long grey sweater tighter against her body.

 

 

 

“Look, I just don’t have the time or energy to deal with your passive-aggressive shit today. So, please just get done with whatever you came here for, so that I could go back to my bed and rest my aching legs”

 

 

 

Regina swallows hard and after what seems like eternity, she finally speaks up, her voice filled with trepidation “You shouldn’t exert yourself so much at this stage – physically or mentally”

 

 

“Which is why I am here” Regina now brings both her arms together and it seems as if she is locking herself in an embrace

 

 

It was kind of unsettling to see the otherwise intimidating woman so nervous, Emma thinks.

 

 

“I wanted to apologize for whatever happened at my doorstep” Regina says calmly “It was absolutely reckless on my part to goad you into the situation we ended up in. The thing is I’m so used to this toxic back and forth sparring between us, that I found myself slipping into it quite easily, even after so many years…”

 

 

She falls quiet then, as if trying to wonder how to say the next few words, without turning it into another sparring match of sorts, no matter how remotely.

 

 

 

“I am sorry; I really am for saying the things I did about **_our_** Henry. Will you accept my apology?”

 

 

Emma wants to remain angry at Regina, but her lips have already rebelled the moment Regina uttered the words _our_ Henry, and they have danced their way into a curved position, eager to perform for the brunette.

 

 

Now her head is nodding too. Seems like there is going to be a very ugly mutilation tonight, her body is not listening to her brain.

 

 

“It’s _Ok_ Regina”

 

 

_Pffft her mouth too?_

 

 

 

“No, I don’t think it was ok. It was undeserved. It is just that…I felt this anger come galloping inside me, and somehow wasn’t able to reign it in. It is just that seeing you all of a sudden, after so many years, it just resurfaced the memories of that night on the bo….”

 

 

 

She didn’t need to complete her word, but Emma already knew.

 

 

 

“It is OK Regina; I didn’t intend to scratch out old wounds” Emma sighs

 

 

 

“Well, I should let you get back to sleep now. Before your parents come out and stake me for trying to yet again break their family apart, I should get going too”

 

 

Emma wants to ask her a million different questions. All of them she knows will lead her to a mound of answers she might not want to know the questions to. But she is tired and this isn’t the time.

 

 

So she nods instead and turns back to push open the door left ajar.

 

 

“Emma” Regina calls out to her hesitantly

 

 

She turns around and looks at the former queen, who is looking at her through her eyelashes now “I was never happy…” her voice is soft but firm “the curse was a curse in every form. I was frankly glad when you came to town and finally the monotony ended. Of course, I didn’t want the curse to end, not because I was happy though, but because I was afraid to lose Henry. But how can you lose something you truly never had?”

 

 

 

Emma sees the brunette’s eyes are now getting misty

 

 

“You’re lucky that you can carry him within you, always. Some of our hearts are so bogged down with the burden of our sins; there is no space empty for anything else”

 

 

A solitary tear, falls down her cheek. Regina makes no attempt to wipe it off; she offers Emma a tiny smile and starts walking away.

 

 

“Wait Regina”, Emma is certain she is going to regret this come morning but to heck with rationality at this hour of the night, and after all that has transpired in a single day “Perhaps we could catch up over lunch sometime, soon?”

 

 

She is sure the former queen is going to politely avoid giving any answer or bluntly express her decision, but Regina does nothing of that sort.

 

 

Regina nods, before she turning around and disappearing down the stairs.

 

 

 

Emma closes the door softly and leans her back against it.

 

 

Maybe Mrs Putin was right, maybe sometimes, all you need to do is be foolishly brave, to make a choice, which could change the course of even the most hostile of relationships since forever.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter : Through Regina's eyes


End file.
